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Chapter Twenty-One

 

Two hours after three beers, Stanley went to bed. He struggled to fell asleep. Tossing, turning, all night, nightmares crept in disturbing his rest. He turned on his left side to get comfortable. Another attempt to get comfortable on the right side, then he rolled onto his back gazing toward the ceiling.

Something pressed against his face!

Stanley’s hands shot up. He tried to pull the pressure away from his face. It pressed harder, rougher, until his breathing remained trapped in his throat. After moments of struggling, he jerked one knee upward, connecting with something. The pressure ceased. His breath kicked in. Stanley gasped for air. His chest heaved choking on prior suffocation.

He bolted toward the bed’s edge, leaning over. Air rushed into his lungs. He topped over onto the floor after someone whacked him in the back of his head. 

 

****

 

 Clive Monroe, head leader of the CIA, left the primary mission, collecting, evaluating, disseminate imp
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